These Hands Will Always Be Rough
by connora
Summary: I never changed for anyone. And that was my downfall.
1. Prolouge

I knew that I was going to die young. Living beyond my seventeenth year became less conceivable on each birthday. It sounds vile, but it's true.

You should know this about me; I'm not a good person. I don't tell jokes for the fun of it, I tell them to be a merciless bastard. I don't keep the company I do so that whenever I get down, I can give them a call. I keep the company I keep so that I can call in favors when my ass lands in the fire. I don't kill people because that's what I'm supposed to do. I kill people because that's what I love to do.

When I was seven, I lit a match for the first time. Xaiver, my brother, was five and he found a pack of matches when we went into London with our mother. We brought them home and took them out back to the woods. And I lit them all, one by one. We burned down two acres of the forest that day. And then it dawned on me. You didn't need an entire army to be destructive. You just needed one person with a lot of determination.

I guess that's why I was so drawn to Him. He had power and I was envious, and I usually don't get jealous, just devious.

I'm not an easy person to understand and I don't expect you to leave here with the ability to conceptualize everything I've done. My only real purpose in life was to hurt people. To make people suffer for no reason other than I had nothing better to do. I watched carefully as I tormented, tortured and brutally murdered innocent people.

Want to hear the best part?

I died three days short of my eighteenth birthday. Did you know that such a vile creature could exist in this world? That before most people could appreciate life for what it was, I had taken it away?

I'm not telling you this because I'm on some plight for justification. If I had my way about things, I'd just go to my grave without another word. But I have to remedy something. There is one thing that I have to fix before I close my eyes one last time. I'm ashamed to say that it's juvenile, but this is the first time in my life I've ever acted like a child, so let me enjoy it.

The good side that I do possess comes in drips and drabs. It's hard to come by, but when you're lucky enough to catch a glimpse of it – without being modest – it's remarkable. There was only one person I ever wanted to show it to, and for all my wanting, I couldn't muster up enough of it for her to stick around.

But then again, I never changed for anyone.

And that was my downfall.


	2. One

They say you'll never forget your first time. I know I won't forget mine. It's etched in my memory for good. I guess that's partly because it was with one of my closest family members.

I was eight and Xaiver was six. We looked a lot a like, now that I really think about it. Dark brown hair with hazel eyes that were such a mix of colors, it was hard to point out any one hue. We were mistaken for twins once by a woman that my mother knew. I remember how angry I was when she said that I looked like him. So angry in fact that I ended up killing her and rendering her daughter mindless some seven years later.

My father had a brother, my uncle Ronan. Ronan was my father's older brother and was always doted on. My father talked in his sleep, even up until his death. Often, he would go on and on about how much he hated Ronan and how he swore that he would never treat one of his sons better than the other.

Well, unfortunately for dear old Dad, like father, like son.

The difference? I didn't get to go to the World Cup. I didn't get what I wanted for Christmas. Or my birthday. Or even a surprise gift. I never got to go to work with my father to see what he did all day. He never sent me post telling me how much he missed me when he went away on business. He didn't stay home with me when I was sick or read me stories to make me feel better.

Did I forget to mention that my brother even shares my father's _name?_

I never wanted to be one of those pathetic kids with daddy issues who was always acting out for some kind of attention. I didn't want my father to do anything out of pity for me. I wanted to be respected, not appeased.

We lived on an estate out in the country. It was barren and desolate for most of my childhood with the exception of the woods that my brother and I played in all the time. There was a creek that ran through the middle; it was where we went in the summer to cool off.

Don't get me wrong, Xaiver and I got along fine. Up until I went to school, he was the only real friend I had. He knew my secrets and he trusted me. He looked up to me. I taught him how to tie his shoes and how to read.

But that's not the point. The point is, no matter what I did, I was always second best.

My mother had decided during the winter that she wanted a garden to offset the sad looking house. Construction began the spring before I left for front of the house was covered with all sorts of plants that I had very little interest in. In the backyard, a maze was being constructed. She never cared much for mazes, but thought that it would be a nice place for Xaiver and I to play. And it would have been.

She kept reminding us not to run about the untrimmed shrubs or trip over garden tools. Boys never do listen, do they?

I challenged Xaiver to a race on the first day of summer. He was fast, but I was faster. There were lots of twists and curves and I figured that my mother wanted to keep us busy which was why she designed it so intricately. She almost had me fooled, but I had only run into a dead end once.

I was nearing the middle when I rounded a sharp corner and stopped suddenly. There was a hole about ten feet deep and I was inches from the edge. I couldn't see everything that was at the bottom, but I could see the sun's glare on a pair of garden sheers.

I thought about calling to Xaiver whose footsteps were getting closer and closer. I thought about telling him to stop, to look out, to turn around, that there was a dead end. I stepped to the side with my back against the bush and watched as my brother turned the corner.

It was almost in slow motion. He looked elated that he finally caught up with me, something he had never been able to do. But when he took another step forward only to find that there was nothing beneath it, his glee faded and he turned his head in horror. I didn't even blink as I watched him fall.

He tumbled forward and I heard the snap of his neck. I wanted to tear my eyes away from the gruesome sight of my dead brother but I couldn't stop looking at him. How positively angelic he looked.

My first thought should have been along the lines of 'My God, my brother's dead' or 'What have I done?' At the very least, I should have shed a fear tears at his grave sight. I should have felt a lump in my throat and my chest should have started heaving.

But this, my dears, is what I thought;

I don't have a brother to be compared to anymore. I'm number one again.

At his funeral, my father cried. He bawled his eyes out. My mother ordered the maze to be destroyed and the flowers died by July. The house went back to its repulsive state. My father started working longer hours. He would never come right out and say it, but I knew it was because I looked so much like Xaiver. He couldn't stand to look at me anymore.

My parents never accused me of killing him but they never denied it either. And rightly so. I may not have pushed him, but I didn't stop him either.

Like I said, you never forget your first. Murder, that is.


	3. Two

I don't have to tell you that I'm not your average kid, which is why you shouldn't be surprised when I tell you that I was excited to go off to Hogwarts, away from my family. It meant that I didn't have to watch my mother mope around the house or my father down another bottle of Firewhiskey.

My father took me to the train station, which surprised even my mother. He walked through the platform with me and pointed to the train with not so much as a 'good luck,' 'I'm proud of you,' or even a 'see you later.' He sulked off and I climbed aboard the train, settling myself in a compartment alone.

It was a bittersweet train ride. I was half expecting someone to sit with me. A tall boy with white blonde hair opened the door a peak to see if anyone was inside. After closing the door he motioned for his friends to follow him down the train. A girl came along with long black ratty hair and an identical looking boy in tow. She scoffed at me to which I made a blatant face. She slammed the compartment door and the two walked away.

All right, I'll say it; I was upset. Dear old dad all but dumped me at the train station and no one could be bothered sitting with me. I thought at least another first year might've dropped by. But alas, I rode the Hogwarts Express by myself and contemplated what my first year would bring me, if not a headache.

I'm not easy to impress but the Great Hall was just that. They herded us like cattle down the center isle, which was completely unnecessary. I looked at the Slytherin table and eyed up a few of the more intimidating looking housemates. The blonde haired boy was sitting there and so was the grotesque looking girl. I gagged at the thought of what she smelled like.

The first name they called was Aria Avery. She was taller than almost all of the boys, which struck me as odd. Her hair was dark brown and her eyes were a vibrant blue. She was confident, which irritated me to no end. She looked like a snobbish bookworm but much to my surprise, she was sorted in Slytherin. She sat down beside a boy who was almost prettier than she was.

Now, it never dawned on me that I would be one of the last people they sorted. So for the better part of an hour, I waited with a bunch of gits who, of course, were sorted into Hufflepuff. When I finally got to meet my housemates, I learned a few things.

The boy with blond hair was a fifth year, Lucius Malfoy. The only person who seemed to hold the same amount of power or influence was a seventh year girl who was positively dangerous looking. Bellatrix was her name, and an angelic looking girl called Narcissa called her Bella. The very pretty boy was a second year, Walden MacNair, and, strangely enough, he seemed to be close friends with the gruesome girl and her brother, Alecto and Amycus Carrow.

These were the people I would spend the better part of my life with, the latter three in particular. It's funny looking back on this particular day. If I had known then that I had just under seven years to live, I may have asked to be sorted differently and make better choices.

Actually, no, no I wouldn't have.


	4. Three

It was Christmas during first year when I finally made a friend. I didn't go home for the holiday because, really, there was nothing to go back to. I never got post from my family with the exception of a monthly newsletter from my mother, which was mostly about distant family members she was under the impression I actually cared about.

Granted, I had a few companions, but no one I was close to. No one I spoke to outside class. The other boys in my year kept to themselves for the most part, with the exception of Severus Snape who was quite unless he was around a red haired Gryffindor, during which his demeanor changed. But he was hardly the kind of person I wanted to surround myself with.

I would eavesdrop on conversations between Amycus and Walden and desperately want to be a part of the banter, but I wasn't going to beg. Actually, I wasn't even going to ask. I would wait for _them_ to come to _me_, even if I had to wait an entire year. Is that selfish? Yes. Did I care? Absolutely not.

When Christmas morning rolled around, I stumbled into the Common Room to find Aria Avery, the first person in my year to be sorted. I didn't know much about her other than she was in all of my classes and she was as smart as she looked. She didn't participate as often as some of the Ravenclaws but she had corrected them on a few of their facts on more than one occasion. If I were easy to impress, she would have impressed me. I was under the impression that I was the only Slytherin staying behind for the winter holiday but apparently not. She was sitting beside the Christmas tree holding a letter with a soft smile on her lips. She looked happy which immediately put me in a bad mood.

I stumbled down the stairs and cast a pointless glance in her direction before helping myself to a dessert tray complete with strawberry tarts. I had intended on ignoring her presence when I felt the cushion next to me sink down.

"Happy Christmas." She said indifferently, her letter sitting on her lap.

"Yeah." I said, my mouth full of strawberry filling. "Same."

"You're Evan." She observed.

"I am." I confirmed, slightly annoyed by her matter of fact tone of voice.

"I'm Aria." She outstretched her hand in my direction.

I have to be honest; I'd never met anyone like her before. This was the first time anyone had introduced them self to me so I didn't quite know how to react. I know, I know. I'd been in school for four months already but no one had extended them self to me. And my logic has always been to let the other guy make the first move, the key word here being _guy_. But I was in no position to turn down a friend even if it was a girl. T

I brushed the tart dust off onto my pajamas and shook her hand. Her grip was firm and it took me by surprise. Girls never were my area of expertise. But I had never known one to approach a boy first, shake his hand and have a stronger grip at that.

"Why aren't you going home?" she asked curiously, reaching across my lap for one of the treats off my dessert tray. I'd be lying to you if I said I didn't want to smack her hand away.

"Why aren't you?" I wasn't about to volunteer information without getting some first. Plus, the time she spent explaining herself gave me the chance to fabricate a nice lie.

"I asked you first." She said simply.

"So?" I shrugged.

"You didn't want to go home, did you?" she said, a knowing – and annoying – smile on her face.

I thought about the pros and cons to this situation. We were the only two members of the house who had stayed behind. If anyone saw me in her company, there wasn't a thing that could be said about it. I didn't fancy spending my days with a female but I was tired of spending them alone.

"No, not really." I admitted. "You see, my father takes loads of holidays when he's not working. And whenever I'm home, we venture to different countries, that sort of thing." I lied coolly. "Well, for Christmas, he wanted to take my mum and myself to China and then Japan, maybe Indonesia. But I told him I wasn't interested. We went there a few years ago and it was so boring. I couldn't wait to leave. I told him that they could go if they wanted, spend some time alone and all. I'd just spend time with my friends."

Aria listened patiently, quietly as I spoke. Not to pat myself on the back – well, maybe a little bit – but I was always a great liar. I had my mother convinced that I could speak three languages once. I only knew a few simple phrases in German and Norwegian but it was enough for her to brag to the neighbors. When she found out I lied she was, of course embarrassed but I weaseled my way out of that one, too. I explained that I had no recollection of the incident and made her believe that she was going insane. I suggested she check herself into the infirmary, which she still thinks about doing. It's a handy little tool that I keep in my back pocket at all times. It was no picnic convincing people who had known me my entire life but I had a feeling that it would be simple to pull the wool over Aria Avery's eyes.

"China, huh?" she said, impressed. "That sounds amazing."

"I know." I said, leaning back against the black leather couch.

"That's nice of you to let them have a vacation alone." She nodded. "So, where were those friends you were going to spend time with?" she said, looking around the empty room.

Had I known she was so goddamned clever, I would have tried harder to hide my look of surprise. No one had ever called my bluff, I thought angrily, and this was one of my better lies. I balled my hands into fists and tossed her a glare that she laughed at.

"Fine then. What're _you_ doing here?" I challenged.

"I didn't really want to see my brother." She said simply.

"You're brother?" I asked. When she nodded, I shrugged. "Why?"

"Because he's four and he's annoying. He wants me to play with him all of the time and I just didn't want to spend my holiday babysitting. I'd rather spend my time alone ... well, not so alone anymore." She considered.

"I didn't know you had a brother." I said absently, thinking more about my own deceased brother than her live one.

"It's not something I keep a secret." She said, looking at me with raised eyebrows.

I thought about mentioning Xaiver. I thought about how I would bring his name into conversation, if it were even worth it. There was this thing inside me that just needed to breathe and I couldn't compress it, not with Aria sitting right there. It was almost uncontrollable.

"I had a brother." I said before I could stop myself.

"Had?" That was another thing about her that drove me mad. The fact that she actually listened to what I was saying. She didn't just sit there and nod her head like any other girl would have. She asked questions. Questions I didn't want to answer. Questions I didn't even think about when I was alone.

"Yeah. He died a few years ago." I said without thought again.

"I'm sorry." She said genuinely. She had never spoken to me before but she seemed genuinely concerned. Her sincerity was almost enough to make me want to cry, something I hadn't done in years.

"I'm not." I said evenly without emotion.

* * *

><p>I learned three things about Aria Avery over the course of those four weeks.<p>

One, she was scared of spiders.

The night after Christmas, I heard a scream from the girls' dormitory. I knew that I wasn't 'supposed' to venture up there, but it was just Aria and myself. And her blood curling shriek sent me flying up the stairs without hesitation. Call it heroism, call it curiosity. I call it being nosey.

When I reached her bedroom, I found her curled up against her headboard, her eyes as wide as dinner plates, staring as what appeared to be a wolf spider, crawling along her footboard. Her face was white with terror and when she saw me, she wasted no time in instructing me to kill it.

"It's just a spider." I said, trying not to laugh.

"I don't care what it is! _Please_ just get rid of it!" Aria said, her hands balled into fists and her eyes watery.

Without another word - and resisting the urge to crack a spider-related joke - I pulled my wand from my sleeve and levitated it out the window, watching it as it crawled along the window pane before turning it's hairy little body in the direction of the ground. Aria inched off her bed when I reassured her that it was two stories away.

"Why didn't you just get rid of it?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Because." She said, now turning a light shade of red as she stood up. "My wand was on the other side of the room."

I looked at her for a moment and tried again to stifle my laugh but couldn't conceal my grin.

"It's not funny!" She insisted.

"What would you have done if I weren't here?" I asked, my arm folded across my chest.

Aria fell silent for a moment, and tucked a lock of her thick, brown hair behind her ear. She looked at me squarely in the eye before taking my arm and leading me toward the exit.

"Let's hope I won't have to find out. Now come on, I'm hungry!"

The second thing I learned about Aria was that she loved to break rules just as much as any boy, but she was twice as careful not to get caught.

That same night she snuck me into the kitchens for a midnight snack. When I asked her how she found out where they were, she simply shrugged and said that she overheard a group of Hufflepuffs talking about it. Later on, she had pulled one aside and paid him to tell her how to get in.

One morning in the fall when she couldn't sleep, she came upon a very drunk and fumbling Professor Slughorn and watched as he emerged from a secret passageway. Eventually, she discovered that the passage lead to the southern most part of Hogsmeade and as a result, made weekly trips to Honeydukes.

Without using magic, she could build a house of cards and stand on her hands for three minutes flat. She told some of the scariest stories I had ever heard and the most remarkable thing about her was that she was genuine. I never got the feeling that she was trying to be impressive or showy. She never lied about anything as far as I could tell. All of these wonderful things she possessed made me envious of her. But not in the ways I was envious before. I didn't want to take anything away from her. I just wanted to know more about her.

Suddenly, I was no longer ashamed to be her friend.

When the snow began to fall and the castle got colder, we slept in the Common Room by the fire. One night, I woke up and found her sleeping so close to me I could smell her shampoo, which was soft and airy, like water lilies and peonies.

Then I learned a third thing about Aria Avery.

She was lonely, too. She didn't have to tell me this, but I knew she didn't have any other friends. She never ventured off with any of the other girls, and she kept quiet at every meal. Aria never gave me any indication that she was longing for someone to talk to, but I could see it in her face every once in a while. She would look outside at the snow and this quiet sadness would grace her features. She would mention one of the other students and a faint smile would fall on her lips. And when we slept in the Common Room, she clung to me as if I would disappear.

I'm embarrassed to say this but when her head was buried in my neck and her arms were slug across my shoulder, I never moved them, because I wanted her company too.

I was almost sad for classes to begin again. It didn't necessarily mean that things had to change, but they would. As soon as the other students arrived, Aria and I spoke less frequently, though for about amonth, once a week we went to Honeydukes together. We worked together on a few projects but our interactions weren't the same.

But the atmosphere had changed. When it was just us, things were different. And for a reason I'd rather not discuss, I wanted it to be just us again.


	5. Four

Two months before school was scheduled to end, three boys in my year approached me with a proposition.

Amycus Carrow was one of the most deceptive men I had ever met. His voice was smooth, even at eleven. I could only imagine how cunning he would be once he had grown into his features.

Walden MacNair had kept to himself most of the time, but I noticed he actually did his work. When a professor called on him, he knew the answer. He wasn't especially outgoing, but he was brilliant. And he had an impeccable sense of style.

Deacon Dawlish was charming. More charming than a Slytherin should have been, in my opinion. But his stunning kiss-assery was admirable. He would sacrifice the battle if it meant winning the war.

"You're Evan, right?" Amycus asked, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, Walden and Deacon flanking him.

"Yeah." I nodded.

"How do you feel about … disturbing the peace?" he asked.

Alecto, Amycus' sister, it seemed, had froze his bed in the middle of the night back in February. He had to have Madam Pomfrey melt almost all of his bedding so that he could walk away without frostbite. Amycus then decided to get her and a few of her friends back for the prank but what he had in mind was too hard for one person alone, which was why Evan was even approached.

Each of them had a target in mind. Amycus – Alecto. Deacon – Vivian Selwyn. Walden – Angelina Travers. And me. Well, I didn't know who I was going to go after. I didn't really see the sense in going after someone for what Alecto did but I wasn't about to argue. I had been waiting all year to be a part of their group, and I wasn't about to question their rules.

I didn't really have many enemies but I didn't have any toes to worry about stepping on either. The only person I could come up with was Aria. I know. It was a dick move. The only person who could conceivably give a shit about me in the future and I was already burning bridges. But if sacrificing one for the sake of gaining three – four if you count Alecto because she came with Amycus – then I was going to do it. I did.

Each of the pranks were individual. We convened after classes to see who was going to do what. At dinner we sat huddled together, avoiding the girls as much as possible, which wasn't too hard. Except Alecto. She was like a cockroach – we couldn't get rid of her.

I didn't want to hurt Aria too bad, but when Deacon ruined Vivian's schoolbooks and Amycus all but broke his sister's foot, I had to do something that would measure up to par.

What I did, though, I couldn't even believe.

Aria was making her way to class in late April. It was raining and her robes were soaked. She had just entered the corridor by way of the courtyard when I caught up with her. We hadn't really spoken since February, which didn't seem to bother either of us, at least not on the surface.

"Evan." She said, a bit amused to find me seeking her out. "What are you doing?"

"I wanted to give you something." I said, pulling a rose from my pocket.

Aria was smart and almost instantly she looked at the way I was holding it. It was pinched between my index finger and thumb, careful not to touch any other area of the stem. I tried to look as calm as possible but she had already picked up on the notion that something was off.

Something was off indeed. With the exception of where I was gripping the flower, I had doused the entire stem and even some of the petals in an acidic chemical I found in potions. I barely glanced at the label but when I saw that it was toxic enough to burn and even damage skin I dumped the contents into a cauldron to complete my task. She was good at potions and probably knew what it was by the smell.

Like I said, even though I didn't want to hurt her, I couldn't risk my only friend at Hogwarts being a girl, even if we did have fun together. So I tried to poison her.

She was just about to speak when I heard Amycus, Walden and Deacon coming up behind me.

"Isn't that sweet." Amycus jeered.

"_Ros_ier bought a _rose_ for Avery." Walden grinned.

"Well don't just look at it, Avery. Take it!" Deacon said simply.

Aria looked at me expectantly, as if she wanted me to do something so that she didn't have to take hold of the dangerous rose. Now, I'm pretty good at concealing looks. Very good, actually. But whatever look was on my face at that particular moment, Aria caught wind of it.

I wanted to belong to a group of people. I wanted to be a part of something, even something destructive. She must have sensed that because suddenly, her face brightened up.

"Thank you, Evan. That's very sweet."

I thought that maybe she would have gripped it the same way I had to avoid damage, but much to my surprise, she wrapped each of her fingers around the stem and walked off. She hadn't gotten halfway down the hall when she dropped the flower, her hand turning a scarlet red. She shrieked in pain while a few students gathered to see what was wrong.

I remember having the same feeling when Xaiver died. I remember wanting to feel bad but just not being able to muster up any emotion. My new _friends_ laughed at my side and I managed a smile before turning to follow them outside. Before we left the corridor, I turned back to where Aria stood with Professor Slughorn.

"Who did this?" I read his mouth say.

Aria turned and looked at me for a moment before quickly replying, "I don't know."

Even when I betrayed her, Aria Avery was the best friend I ever had.


	6. Five

When I came home for the summer, I told my parents about my new friends. They were nothing short of pleased that I had made a name for myself among the other Slytherins and subsequently, other powerful families. My father gave me a clap on the back that was more then I could have asked for but I was 12 by this time, and past the point of seeking his approval.

The Marchbanks' had a summer solstice every year in June and invited all the prominent Wizarding families. We had been invited years past, but had never gone. Correction, my father never wanted to go, and if he was able to cop out then I made my case just as well. So my mother always went to keep up appearances. However, because my newfound 'friends' were going, I wasted no time in telling my mother I would go with her this year.

The Carrows were there, as well as Walden and Deacon, who looked like a muggle movie star at a red carpet event and wasted no time introducing himself to very beautiful and very married witches. We spent most of our evening judging everyone else in attendance including but not limited to the Potters, the Blacks and the Boneses. Bellatrix came over to us once only to speak with Alecto. Lucius and Narcissa were schmoozing with a few ministry officials. For the most part, it was low-key. There was a band playing lazy jazz music and the food was above average. Only when a rock struck me in the back of the head did my gaze waiver from mindless people watching.

"Ouch!" I yelled, rubbing the spot where the rock was surely leaving a red mark. "What was that?"

"I didn't see anyone." Walden said, scanning the area behind me.

"Maybe it was a bird." Amycus suggested with a lazy shrug.

"You _marvelous_ git. I think he'd know if a bird flew into the back of his head." Alecto sneered.

"Just a suggestion." He replied.

I turned around behind me where the lake on the Marchbanks' property was located, but saw nothing with the exception of a few fountain lights and illuminated lily pads. But my curiosity was peaked. Anyone who wanted to start a fight with me had better do well to finish it.

"I'll be back." I mumbled, trudging through the trees.

"If it was a bird, it's surely gone by now." Amycus mused.

"Shut it." Alecto said, irritated, while Walden laughed at her candor.

It was bright enough but I couldn't see anyone, or anything that resembled a human figure. I thought for a second that maybe despite its ludicrousness, maybe Amycus' theory had some truth.

Then I heard a tree branch snap.

I was just about to draw my wand when I felt it fall from my hands at the sight of her. It was Aria, clad in a deep violet party dress that stopped just above her knees. Her shoulders were bare and her dark raven locks curled as they touched the tip of her skin. She looked more mature then her twelve years and it took me by surprise. My first thought was that of shock, and the second was remorse.

I hadn't spoke to her since the day I had given her that rose. In the weeks that followed, I wondered if she would turn me in. She had every right to. I could only imagine the damage it had caused. I could hear her crying from her dormitory some nights as the skin grew back. I never asked her how the healing process was and avoided all eye contact with her. Alecto had tried to coerce Aria into a rebuttal but Aria declined, something I found strange. But I had gotten what I wanted in the end. My prank was the best of them all though Lucius curiously wanted to know why I would cause harm to one of my own housemates. It was a good question. A _very_ good question which was why I ignored it.

"Hello, Evan." Aria said with no particular tone. In the dim light I couldn't see her face or make out any possible signs of aggression, which unnerved me.

"Aria." I nodded, unsure of how to approach the situation. I should apologize, that was a given. But there was just something about doing what one should do that I could never come to terms with. The more I felt like I should do something, the more I resisted.

"How's your summer going?" she asked casually.

"It's … er … it's alright. Boring." I shrugged, which wasn't a lie. The Carrows insisted that their children travel during the holiday to gain new experiences and Walden had his own family woes to deal with, so it wasn't like he could spend any time away from his own house. Boring was a perfect word for it. "You?" I said before I could think of a clever excuse to leave.

"Not too good, actually." Aria said without hesitation, casting a quick but noticeable glance down at her right hand, which was still bandaged after a month and a half. I could see her finger tips poking out from beneath the gauze – they were red and scabbed over. "Madame Pomfrey won't let me use magic on it. She said it has to heal naturally. It could take another few months."

I wasn't sure what to say to her, but my eyes were transfixed on her ugly fingernails. I couldn't even be sure she had nails the damage was so bad. I wanted to say something but no words came. My mind was blank. So this was what it felt like to hurt someone.

"The potion you used – _substansia de dolor_ – peeled off nearly all the layers of my skin. That first day, I could almost see my nerve endings." Aria was now looking me in the eye without emotion. She looked as empty as I felt and I had no idea how I was going to remedy the situation, or if it was even worth it.

I knew that I wanted my current circle of friends to remain as such, but there was something about Aria Avery that made me want to consider other options. She was a Slytherin, of course, but she wasn't nearly as vile or crude as some of the other females in my house. She was refined and dignified. She was different.

Without thought, I took her hand in mind and unwrapped the bandaged, revealing her red and blotched skin. She gasped when the air touched it and it made me wince. When her entire hand was exposed, I looked at her cautiously.

"Will it scar?"

"My palm." She nodded. "But it will be faint – that's what I'm told."

I had never seen any wound in particular up close. I never climbed trees or broke my arm as a child. Xaiver's accident didn't necessarily count. His death was certainly bloody but it wasn't really a wound – a part of someone that was damaged and yet they continued to live. I was fascinated by it. I looked at Aria for a moment before bending my head down to her hand, placing my lips atop the crackled skin. She shook for a moment, but relaxed against my kiss. When I looked up at her again, she smiled and nodded, accepting my unspoken apology.

It was, perhaps, one of the most beautiful moments of my life.

But it was those thoughts of conscious pain that first peaked my thoughts about something I would later excel at. It was here, in late June with Aria Avery that I first contemplated torture.


	7. Six

By the time I was halfway through my second year, Amycus, Walden, Deacon and myself had cemented ourselves together as a group. We spent much of our time together and when I showed them the clever tricks I had learned from Aria, they were wildly impressed. When they asked where I had discovered them, I just shrugged and told them that it was best kept a secret. During mealtimes, we talked about current events, which were becoming darker. Amycus knew the most about Him. I had heard His name once or twice but it was from the Carrows that I got most of my information. It was interesting – Amycus or Alecto would make mention of meetings He was having, and almost within 24 hours, the Daily Prophet would report an attack or a murder. I suspected it had something to do with an initiation process but I couldn't be sure. But times weren't that dark, not yet.

As for Aria, she sent me post once during the summer. In the middle of July, she sent me a letter telling me that her physical wounds had healed and my actions at the solstice had healed any emotional ones. Just the same, I didn't want to write back. I could chalk it up to laziness but in reality, I didn't want any of the time I had already spent with Aria to be corrupted. She had already seen a gruesome side to me and I couldn't make any promises that she wouldn't see any more of it. I'll confess it because I know you want to hear it – I didn't want to hurt her again, not if I could help it. The way I figured it, if I wasn't close to her and I ended up screwing her over again, it would hurt less.

But I suspected she knew this because when I boarded the train to Hogwarts, she passed by me in the corridor and nodded cordially. It was an act of kindness on her part. Almost as if she were saying 'I understand.' That was another thing about Aria, she was understanding to a fault.

Just after Halloween, a letter came from my mother. My father had taken ill. It seemed that he had developed the Vanishing Sickness and his legs were beginning to fade. My mother requested my return home and gained the Headmaster's permission for me to miss at most a week of classes.

When I got home, I found my father lying in bed. He was sweating and feverish. His body was covered up but I could tell that his legs were completely gone by the time I had arrived – the blanket on his body collapsed past his torso.

I tried to be strong for my mother but she was inconsolable.

"First my child, now my husband." She would say over and over again.

It turned my stomach to knots. Somehow, I considered that she didn't want to be stuck with me, that when my father died, she wouldn't have anyone left. I resented her for that.

I sat with my father for my mother's sake on a Tuesday morning. He stirred around three in the morning and called my name.

"Evan." He said, "Evan, my son." He choked on his words, his left cheek now transparent.

"I'm here." I said, my voice a shade deeper than it was a year before.

My father looked at me with those infamous Rosier eyes. Those hazel, muddy-brown, blue-green orbs with flecks of amber. He looked pained, and struggled for air. His stomach was gone and as a result, he could no longer eat. I had a week to watch him die, but it was consuming him within days.

"Evan." He said my name again and closed his eyes as if he were reciting a hymn.

I wanted to say something to my father that might make him feel better but no words came. For the first time, I saw my father truly scared, terrified at what was going to happen to him. I think he took the most comfort in knowing that wherever he was going, his beloved son would be waiting for him.

But that son was not me. And so I looked my father square in the eye and nodded before getting up, leaving the room.

On his deathbed, a man deserves to be cared for. But so does a child. Without thought, I left my father wanting the one thing he had denied me my entire childhood – affection.

When I returned to school, I tonelessly told my friends that my father had died. Walden repeatedly asked if I was okay but I told him each time that I was perfectly fine. I didn't want to make a big deal out of something so miniscule. Thankfully, they left the subject alone and were more than happy to return to their regular conversations.

Aria, on the other hand, cast me careful glances from the other side of the Common Room. I knew what she was thinking and I knew she wanted to talk. But I knew that if she started asking questions, I would end up answering those questions.

For a month and a half I did my best to avoid her. She never approached me or made an attempt to ask me anything about my father, but I knew that once the winter holiday came around, we would be left alone again. So I did my best to dodge her at every turn.

The morning everyone left to return home, I sat in the courtyard on the southern end of the castle. It was empty. Even when students roamed the halls hardly anyone ever occupied the bleak space because it was so far removed from the rest of the castle. But that was why I liked it.

The air was bitter and it whipped around my face, blowing my Slytherin scarf in my face. I tried to prevent my thoughts from drifting back to the last time I saw my father alive, but it was hard. The only memory I had of him that I liked to think about had taken place in the winter. The snow hadn't yet fallen, but it was cold, freezing even. I had begged my parents to let me play outside, despite the near freezing temperatures. Xaiver was only a toddler and could hardly keep me occupied.

"Only for fifteen minutes." My mother finally conceded.

I was elated, and ran around the perimeter of our house at least twice before I collapsed from exhaustion. The air pinched my cheeks and I could see my breath coming in short gasps. I laid down and closed my eyes, the cold ground beneath my back. I can't be sure how long I was laying there but I remember hearing someone calling my name, frantically. I tried to open my eyes, but I was too comfortable in my lazy near-death state.

Moments later I felt myself lifted from the ground, and a pair of strong arms held me, carrying me away from the backyard. They were warm and inviting arms and I thought peacefully, is this what it's like to die?

"Evan," I heard my father's voice whisper, "Evan, open your eyes, look at me."

I opened them slowly and caught sight of my father's face. There was only one time I would ever see him worried or concerned for me, and this was it. I had never seen him look more like a father, more like a man who wanted the very best for me. He ran his hand over my frozen face and an electric current ran through my veins. He was so warm, so very warm.

They told me later that I had been outside for nearly two hours, that Xaiver had turned over a pot of soup, ruining my mother's imported Oriental rug, distracting her. I never did understand why she wanted to carpet her kitchen.

She had forgotten about me. My mother wouldn't have even remembered that I was gone had Xaiver, my baby brother, not called out my name. I used to play hide and go seek with him to keep him entertained. It was his childish want for playtime that casually saved my life.

I guess I have my brother to thank for this tender memory. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had died. Would anything have changed? Would my parents mourn my death as they had my brother's? Would they feel guilty? At all? Even a little?

My somber thoughts were interrupted by the sound of shoes entering the courtyard. I knew without turning around that it was Aria. She was the one person – the _only person _– that would bother to look for me.

Without word, she sat down beside me, and I could smell her – that blissful scent of water lilies and peonies. It was becoming so identifiable that I could tell whether or not she had been in a particular room.

I half expected her to say something. To ask me to tell her what happened, to ask how I was feeling and what could she do for me. But Aria Avery always had a way of exceeding my expectations.

She wrapped her right hand – the hand that not even six months ago I had nearly ruined with my selfishness – around my shoulder and pulled me in close. It wasn't forceful, but soft, and so delicate I wanted to cry. But I didn't have to want for long.

It came quickly. My thoughts drifted back to Xaiver and my father and I thought of things I had buried for close to five years. I remembered how Xaiver always promised that when we went off to school, we would play Quidditch together, and that we would always be best friends. I remembered how much he loved me and how selfish, how _goddamned selfish_ I was. I remembered the nights we stayed up late underneath the covers talking about what we wanted to be when we grew up. And then I thought about how I robbed him of that. I took away his chance to grow up.

I was a monster. I was truly a monster. And then I cast my eyes to Aria and wondered how she could not see that. How could she sit here beside me after my behavior in the summer? How could she forgive that?

"Aria," I said, letting out a slow breath and closing my eyes, "I need to tell you something."

She listened quietly as I told her about what really happened to Xaiver, about why I did it and how for all my regret, I still wasn't sorry. I told her about my father and how I left him to die alone, and wasn't remorseful for that either. That for all my wanting, I couldn't make myself want to take it back. And once again, she surprised me and held my hand tighter when each horrible story left my mouth. She didn't flinch, she didn't even ask me how I could be so rotten.

When I had finished, I stared at her for a long moment. She was clam, placid. I knew I looked disheveled. My face was red and my nose was running and I must have looked more like a serial killer then I ever had before.

"Why are you still here?" I blurted outright with a shake of my head.

Aria looked down at her feet for a moment, gathering her thoughts, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

"What?" I asked angrily, demanding an answer.

"You're human, Evan. That's all." She said simply.

"But I _killed_ someone. My brother. How can you sit here after that?" I said, exasperated.

"You were a child, and whether or not you're sorry – it doesn't matter. It won't change anything. It won't bring him back." She said with a shake of her head. "As for your father …" she trailed off and I looked away, knowing that she was probably disappointed in my actions. Honestly, what kind of son behaves that way? I know that's how she must have seen it. I felt her hand turn my face to look at her again. "As for your father, I couldn't be more proud of you."

"Proud?" I nearly whispered.

"He didn't peace of mind, or you as a son. Or to love you." Aria said softly.

Her last words hung in the air like a thick blanket and my sobs came in heaves. Instinctively, I laid my head on her shoulder and she held me without another word.

That memory of my father that I regarded as the most beautiful memory of my life was easily replaced with this one.

How amazing it is to bare your soul to someone and for them to stay beside you. How many people are that honest? How many people have you shown your true self to? How many times have you concealed your darkest secrets for fear of rejection?

I made a decision right then and there, that if I were to ever love anyone – and the chances of that were exceptionally low – it would be Aria Avery, because in spite of my flaws and my poor choices, she cared about me without judgment.

I tried to convince myself for many years that this was not the moment that I started to fall in love with her. But it was.

Merlin, it was.


	8. Seven

Winter break came fast but of course, it went just as quickly. Once again Aria and I spent our nights in the Common Room huddled together like newborn kittens – forgive the analogy because in reality, I hate kittens.

She did her best to make me feel better about the loss of my father but to no real avail. I appreciated her concern, but there wasn't anything she could do. Just the same, she would read me stories by Edgar Allen Poe while I lay on the floor, my eyes closed, wondering what it might be like to kill a man and bury his heart beneath my floor board, or what it might be like to inflict the kind of pain tuberculosis brought with it's red mask.

The morning before our housemates were set to return, Aria woke me early and insisted that I come with her outside.

"Aria, it's cold." I mumbled, burying my head beneath the pillows we had scattered about the floor and wrapped myself threefold in bearskin blankets.

"I'll put a warming charm on you – just _please_ get up!" she insisted.

Without waiting for my compliance – _Merlin_, she was annoying – she flicked her wand and instantly, my body heat regulated itself and I felt much more awake.

"Pleaseeeee." She said sweetly, batting those infamous blue eyes.

"Fine." I grumbled and grabbed my coat.

The walk was short and she led me down a staircase that lead right to the snow covered ground. I looked at her skeptically. Surely she didn't expect me to trudge through the snow that was easily knee deep.

"Aria-" I began but before I could finish, she waved her wand again, and a clear path was cut through the snow, leading toward a lone tree that sat on the premises.

Wordlessly, I followed her lead to the base of the tree where a section big enough for two people had been cleared. She tugged my hand downward and we all but collapsed onto the ground. She pulled her coat closer around her and without thought I put my arm around her. After the fact, I wondered why I had bothered, but I couldn't tear myself away.

I wanted to ask why she brought me here to a place where the only view was the endless stretch of white snow and the mountains in the distance. I wanted to know why my sleep had been disturbed. I wanted to know why this couldn't wait another few days.

But I already knew the answers to those questions.

Once everyone returned, we would go back to keeping our speaking to a minimum. We would cast looks across corridors and nod cordially. She wanted to keep this moment in a box under her bed until next December, when we would light the fire under our friendship once more. I briefly wondered why this was such a problem, why couldn't we have a friendship that was public.

But I knew the answer to that, too.

There were two sides to me. There was Evan Rosier, and there was Evan. Around Aria, I was Evan. I laughed easily and felt comfortable. I was still an asshole, but I wasn't as brutal. But around everyone else, I held nothing back. If I brought Aria into that world, there was a chance I would hurt her again, and I couldn't let that happen.

Well, just as luck would have it, my preventative measures were for naught.

February faded in March quicker than I expected. Walden had every intention of celebrating St. Patrick's Day as did a few of the other Slytherins. My own plans were uninteresting but enough to keep me occupied.

Deacon had promised to take Lucy Hutchinson to the lake for date number one, Angelina Travers to kitchens for date number two, Marietta Hawke to the girls' bathroom on the second floor for what he hoped included x-rated relations and would end his night with Grace Beck who planned to meet him in the dungeons at midnight.

Deacon Dawlish would surely need to seek magical male enhancement by the time he was twenty years old.

When Aria approached me after dinner, I was surprised.

"Evan," she asked curiously, "are you doing anything tonight?"

"Define anything." I said with one of the grins I tossed around in her presence only.

"Evan." She said, giving me a similar look, one that was reserved for me and for me alone.

"Fine." I rolled my eyes. "Nothing. Why?" I shrugged.

"There's a meteor shower and I wanted to know if you wanted to watch it with me." She said, excited by the idea of falling bits of space, something I had to laugh at.

I had spent a lot of time with Aria in the past. Merlin, for all intents and purposes, we slept together – albeit no one was screaming the other's name. But this was the first time we ever planned anything. And what's more, intended to spend time together while there were other students in the school. I told her that would be fine, but I still needed outside advice.

"Deacon. Who asked you on your first date?" I said in the boys' dormitory. I sat on my bed, trying to look relaxed while Deacon brushed his hair out of his eyes.

"What do you mean who asked me? _I_ did the asking, mate. Always do." He said, adding a wink for effect.

"What did you do?" I inquired.

"How did I ask or how far did we go?" he said seriously.

"Merlin, did you lose it before you started to walk?" I said, exasperated while Deacon laughed. The fact that he found humor in my statement had me a bit concerned, but I had bigger problems than his raging hormones. "How did she know it was a date?"

"I dunno." He shrugged. "It was just implied I guess. Why? Who've you got your eye on?"

"No one." I said with a shake of my head. "It's nothing, I was just curious."

"It's that Avery girl, isn't it?" Walden said absently, straightening his tie.

"Yeah, the petite brunette." Amycus nodded. "Always hanging about you, that one."

"No!" I protested.

"Don't be ashamed, mate! She's not bad. I fancy blondes m'self." Deacon shrugged.

"You fancy every woman." Walden corrected to which Deacon agreed.

"She's cute. A little quiet maybe but if that's what you're into-" Amycus added.

"The less talking the better, I reckon." Deacon nodded.

"I'm not going out with Aria Avery." I said, more determined then ever to prove them wrong.

"You _really_ like her, don't you?" Amycus grinned. "Otherwise you wouldn't make all this fuss."

"Look, Rosier," Deacon said, clapping his hand on my back, "If you don't want to go out with her, just say the word – I'll take her off your hands. I can make room for one more."

I don't know what possessed me to say yes, but I did. I genuinely liked spending time with Aria. We made each other laugh. I didn't feel like I needed to prove anything to her. She was, in essence, my best friend. But Merlin if I told any of them that.

But when she asked me to watch the meteor shower with her, the only thing I could think of was what she was expecting of me. I'd never been on a date before, and unlike my roommates, I didn't let women captivate my attention during all waking hours. It just didn't seem right. Besides, Deacon had much more experience with these kinds of things. She'd have a better time with him – that was what I kept telling myself.

Unfortunately for me, I never considered Aria's feelings in any of this.

She had planned to meet me outside in the courtyard around one in the morning, information that I passed along to Deacon. When he left for his first date at around 5, I busied myself with Charms homework in the library, something I was never really good at. I started to remember how good Aria was at Charms and thought to ask for her help, but suddenly recalled that she was busy getting ready for her date. I waited until after I knew she had left the dormitory before heading back. I thought about taking the route that over looked the courtyard but thought better of it. I should just forget about her.

I was snuggled down in bed trying to envision what it might be like to meet Him when I heard the dormitory door swing open loudly and Deacon was pressing his hand over his eye. Amycus and Walden stirred from their bed as well.

"Oi! Rosier!" Deacon all but yelled.

"What?" I mumbled, disinterested in hearing about his many dates.

"That girlfriend of yours is a right nasty piece of work!"

"She's not my girlfriend." I said, feeling like a broken record having said it so many times.

"Well then you'd better tell her that because as soon as I touched her she went crazy." Deacon said, sitting down on his bed.

At that, I sat upright.

"_What_?" I asked.

"She asked where you were and I said you got caught up in other matters," he explained easily, his hand still pressed over his eye. "I told her I'd be glad to spend the night with her, and she seemed okay with that. I gave her my jacket to keep warm, put my arm around her, I was a perfect gentleman." Deacon said firmly.

"And?" Amycus said with raised eyebrows.

"And," Deacon stressed, "I went to kiss her and she turned her head away."

It seemed innocent enough but I knew Deacon and there had to be more than what he was telling us.

"Then what happened." I demanded.

"She was playing hard to get, all girls do that." He said knowingly. "So I tried again and she stood up!" Deacon said, sounding astonished. "I grabbed and told her that it wouldn't get better than me, that I had women lining up and instead I was with her. I had her pressed right up against the wall – one of my favorite positions – and we were just about to go at it when the bitch punched me."

"She punched you?" Walden said, grinning.

"It's not funny." Deacon said, aggravated. "No one's ever turned me down."

"That's one for the books." Amycus said, now laughing alongside Walden.

"She should have hit you harder." I muttered, throwing my blankets off of me and grabbing my cloak from the foot of my bed.

"Excuse me?" Deacon said, standing. "You're the one who didn't want her. I was doing you a favor a this is the thanks I get?" he scoffed.

I had been so nervous about what Aria expected of me that I hadn't considered the possibility that maybe she didn't expect _anything_. Maybe she just wanted company. Maybe she didn't want the winter months to be the only time we could be friends. Maybe she was tired of spending all of her time alone. And I was selfish and couldn't see that.

I was always angry, but I had never been so frustrated that I let my emotions get the better of me. But after hearing what had happened, what Deacon had done to her, I couldn't stop myself.

"No." I said coolly, before blackening Deacon's other eye with one swift motion of my fist. "_That's_ the thanks you get."

There were dozens of places I could have searched for Aria but there was only one place that I was absolutely certain that she would go. I followed the stairs down to the ground floor, just like I had done only a few months before. I could smell her perfume and I knew instantly that my instincts were correct. The path that she made hardly three months ago was still there and I made my way to where the lone tree sat.

I could hear Aria before I saw her. She was crying and my chest felt hollow. I felt guilty and I didn't like that feeling. I stopped in my tracks, unsure of whether or not to approach her.

I was sure that she probably didn't want to see me but when she looked up and saw my face, she didn't turn away. I knelt down beside her and felt her lay her head on my shoulder. Her body was cold and I wondered why she didn't use a warming charm on herself. Rather than asking, I simply did it for her, and her body relaxed.

"Are you okay?" I asked after a moment.

Aria was silent. She had stopped crying but her face was still wet. I wouldn't answer me either if I were her. Aria was smart, and I had a feeling she knew what had happened. But something inside of me wanted to tell her the truth. I wanted her to know that I was sorry, and I had never wanted that before.

"Why?" was all she said, and looked at me patiently, those eyes piercing right through me.

"I …" I started, hanging my head. I tried to turn away from her but she put her hand to my cheek and made me face her again. "I was scared." I admitted, feeling childish.

"Of what?" she asked, air forming around her breath.

"Of you." I said quietly. "I thought that you … I didn't know what to do." I sighed, thoughts now running through my head quickly. "And Deacon said he did, and I didn't think it would matter, I was just nervous but then when he told me what happened all I could think about was you and if you were okay and how I didn't want anyone else putting their hands on you and I hit him and-"

"You hit him?" Aria said, her eyes wide.

"Well, so did you." I said defensively, turning away. In my peripheral vision, I could see her smile, something that made me feel infinitely better.

"You said," she said lowering her eyes before raising them back to me, "you said you didn't want anyone _else_ putting their hands on me." She said carefully. "What does that mean?"

I can tell you what it means. It means that I didn't want her first kiss or her first anything to be with Deacon, or Walden, or Amycus or anyone but me. I didn't want to think about anyone holding her hand or spending time with her in the common room or telling her jokes that made her laugh until she doubles over. I didn't want her to spend her winters in the common room with another boy. _I_ wanted Aria Avery.

But I didn't know how to tell her that.

"It … it means …" I trailed off. I was never good at expressing myself coherently. The one thing I cherished about my relationship with Aria was that there was no need for too much talking. She knew most of what I was thinking or feeling just by the way I looked. But in this situation, she wanted to hear it. She wanted me to say the words. And I couldn't make myself do it.

I looked at her, the words hovering on my lips. The wind was wrapping itself around us and I felt flakes of snow falling on the back of my next. Aria looked up at me patiently, waiting to hear what I had to say. Words were never my strong suit. So instead of telling her those pretty words, I leaned in and pressed my lips to hers.

Her mouth was warm and her cheeks were chilly and I wasn't even sure if I had done it right. But she lifted her hand to my neck and deepened the kiss, reassuring me. After a moment she broke away, our foreheads pressed together.

"That's all I wanted, Evan." She whispered, her name sounding like it was made for her to say.

In the days that followed, Aria and I suddenly found ourselves walking to classes together and sitting side by side at lunch. Much to our surprise, no one protested this but my guess is that it had more to do with our age than anything else. Having a girl as a best friend at eleven is a fate worse than death. But at thirteen, it made me the envy of most boys my age, even Deacon. But it wasn't about that for me with Aria, it never was.

She showed me what selflessness looked like, she showed me a genuine heart and what it meant to be forgiving. But the infinite lessons she gave weren't enough to change me.

I was just a stubborn son of a bitch, I guess.


End file.
